


Steveness

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst and Humor, April Showers Challenge, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-20
Updated: 2008-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to find your inner Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steveness

**Author's Note:**

> This is for all my lovely friends who got [LEGALLY MARRIED](http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/object/article?f=/c/a/2008/06/18/MNPA11ANT1.DTL&o=1) that week in California. It's also for the ones who didn't get married, but goddammit for a brief while had the legal right to.

Fraser stumbled a little in the dark Consulate as he headed toward the source of the pounding and the...singing?

" _Her name is Riooooooo and she dances on the saaaaands, just like that river crossing through the dusky laaaannds—"_

 __Yanking open the rattling door, Fraser was immediately accosted by approximately eighty kilos of wildly gyrating partner.

"Fraser! Buddy!" Ray leaned into him, his alcohol-scented breath wafting into Fraser's face and making him cough a little.

"Ray. You're drunk." A hint of disapproval crept into his tone.

"Drunk? Drunk? Nah, I'm not drunk _._ " Ray swung past him, using Fraser's shoulder as a pivot point to spin into the hallway. "I am... _wasted_ , Fray-zer. I am _toast._ "

"Ah. I stand corrected." Fraser closed the door. "Toasted, then."

"Correctamundo." Ray seemed to lose his momentum and stood, swaying a little on his feet. "Where's wolf? I got 'im something." Ray reached into his pocket, pulling out a bag of what appeared to be leaves. He turned it over to dump the contents on the floor.

"Ray!" Fraser crossed over and looked down. "Is that...catnip?"

"Yeah." Ray smiled gamely at him. He was just the tiniest bit cross-eyed.

"You brought Diefenbaker catnip?"

"Well, they were out of wolf biscuits. But Dief, he's like part-cat, right? Wolves are like, part-dog, with part-cat in there somewhere. It's the cat part that makes 'em wild."

Fraser began to construct a lecture on the genome of wild canids with respect to the branching ancestry of dogs, noted the state of Ray's bleary eyes, and checked himself. He took a breath and started to answer again, more simply, because, really, he could not let such a crazy misconception stand in Ray's mind, toasted or not, but Diefenbaker chose that moment to come trotting in and begin sniffing at the pile of catnip on the floor. He then looked up and gave an altogether scathing snuffle.

"Yes, Dief, I realize that, but Ray's intentions were plainly well-meant. I'll set him to rights—"

Dief turned his back and made a rude gesture with his hind leg.

"—but not if you're going to take _that_ attitude."

Fraser looked up at Ray, whose face had sagged into a comically despondent expression.

"Don't mind him, Ray. He's altogether too full of himself since Turnbull started poaching him wild Atlantic salmon for his dinner."

"No, it's okay, I didn't—I'll just clean it up." Ray sagged to the floor and started trying to scoop up the catnip, a process hindered by the fact he was endeavoring to shove the detritus into the closed end of the bag.

"Why don't you leave that for me, Ray," Fraser said and urged him back onto his feet. Ray leaned hard against him and then nodded, his forehead bumping Fraser's shoulder. Fraser took advantage of the opportunity to breathe in the faint scent of Ray's hair before pushing him upright and steering him toward the sitting room.

"Sit down and I'll bring you some water."

"Yeah, that'd be good."

When Fraser returned, glass in hand, he found Ray slouched sideways and staring up at the ceiling, one leg hanging off the arm of the sofa and swinging slowly. The motion tightened his jeans on his lean thigh.

Fraser held out the glass and three aspirin. "Preventive measures," he explained, dropping them into Ray's hand.

"Terrific. You're a smart guy, you know that? Smartest guy I know. You remind me of him, that's what I wanted to tell you. 'S why I came over."

"Of whom do I remind you?"

"'Of whom'..." Ray smiled crookedly at him before swallowing down the aspirin and handing back the glass. He had some drops of water clinging to his lips, and licked at them before saying, "He, who—this guy I knew in high school. My best pal, next to Stel. His name is Steve Rodenbaker."

Fraser sat down in the space next to Ray. It felt strange to be in the sitting room clad only in his long johns and socks.

"I had a best friend named Steve as well. At Depot."

"Oh, yeah? Was he smart, real smart? Smarter than you, even?" Ray looked gratifyingly skeptical, and Fraser felt himself blush a little.

"Yes, well, he was quite brilliant, but that wasn't what I admired most about him."

"Yeah, me too. That's why I thought—you have the same kind of," Ray stopped and waved his hands, " _Steveness_ about you. I mean, sure, I wished I had Steve's brains—he could think up anything, you know? But also he was this really good guy. A great guy." Ray finished slurring through his speech and closed his eyes. Fraser assumed he might be drifting off and was thinking of obtaining a blanket for him when Ray's eyes suddenly shot open again. "He just got married."

"Your friend Steve?"

"Yup. 'S weird."

Fraser waited for further explanation, but Ray just stared at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes.

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, Fraser made to rise. "Well, I'll just let you sleep it off—"

"He married a guy."

Fraser sagged back. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. He sent me a marriage announcement. Only, it was a _commitment_ announcement type thing, because they can't get married in Illinois." Ray's eyes shifted over to Fraser and then back again.

Fraser looked away. "Is it—are you upset to learn—?"

"Nah."

Fraser could see Ray rolling his head toward him, but was somehow too terrified to glance over.

"Nah," Ray repeated, "I'm proud of him. It's like he doesn't even care what people think. He just does the right thing, like he always did." Ray paused, then added, "I'm gonna buy him something—a wedding present."

Fraser felt a surge of warmth in his chest and recognized it as relief.

"You're a good friend, Ray."

"You think so?" Ray sounded self-mocking.

"The best," Fraser said firmly. "Standing by your friend—"

"No," Ray said angrily, "you're not getting it."

"I do understand what you're trying to tell me, Ray." Fraser felt awkward, but continued as best he could. "You said I reminded you—before, when you came in—" Drunk, Fraser remembered with a sudden chill. _Oh, dear._ Ray had felt it necessary to get drunk before coming over. Perhaps the relief was premature.

Still, Ray had made the effort to come here, and had made it clear where he stood. In spite of Fraser's 'Steveness'.

"Ray," Fraser said, risking a direct look.

Ray's face was turned toward him. In the low light the blue of his eyes positively gleamed, almost as if he were—

"Don't be—" Fraser tried, but couldn't halt the fearful rush of words. "—don't be upset at me, please, Ray."

Ray blinked rapidly, looking slightly confused now. "I'm not upset at _you_ , Fraser," he said, his voice rough with tears.

Fraser started to note there was hardly anyone else in the room, but at that moment Ray pulled his leg off the arm of the sofa and turned toward him fully, one hand coming up to rest on Fraser's shoulder.

It was peculiar, having Ray's hand on him without the shield of his uniform, with only the thin material of his long johns as protection, but Fraser found it nonetheless reassuring that Ray was still willing to touch him.

"You're a good friend," Fraser repeated helplessly.

"Don't say that," Ray said. "Don't keep saying that, Fraser. I'm a stupid bastard. But at least I'm starting to wise up a little." His hand slipped down from Fraser's shoulder to rest on his chest, and it was almost more than Fraser could bear in that moment. His cheeks felt hot, and his chest burned under Ray's hand. Fraser made a brief noise of protest and started to pull away to gain some distance.

"Don't," Ray whispered. "Just let me do this while I still got the balls."

 _Do what?_ Fraser held still, motionless with disbelief as Ray leaned closer, his right hand coming down to brace on Fraser's thigh until Ray was close enough to—

 _Oh, God._ Ray kissed him then, his lips cool against Fraser's, the inside of his mouth hot as it pressed down, surrounding, his tongue stroking across Fraser's lips. Fraser opened his mouth instinctively, a whimper locking in his chest as Ray's wet tongue pushed into him.

Ray tasted like whiskey, and sin. Fraser raised clumsy hands to hold Ray's head, to keep him close, and the gelled spikes of Ray's hair pricked his palms while Ray kissed him more deeply.

It was everything Fraser had never dared dream about and more, because Ray was sobbing harshly into his mouth as if he were as overwhelmed as Fraser was. As if this were something he'd yearned for as hopelessly as Fraser had.

"God. God," Ray chanted as he pulled away, his neck tensing under Fraser's wrist. Fraser came back to himself with a sense of shock and giddy fear.

 _He's drunk_ , Fraser reminded himself, but Ray was pulling at the buttons of Fraser's long johns, almost frantic in his efforts to unfasten them.

"Ray," Fraser said in protest.

"No, no, no," Ray said. "Gonna do this. Want it so bad. _Been_ wanting it."

"You're drunk," Fraser said, fighting the surge of lust he felt at Ray's words.

"So what? I'm gonna suck your cock, Fraser. Not too drunk to do that—"

Fraser froze, stunned. Ray took advantage of his inattention, and the last of his buttons popped open. Ray spread open the material and pushed it off his shoulders, exposing Fraser's chest and stifling his half-formed protest that they didn't need to do this just _now_ , did they? When Ray was so obviously being swayed by his inebriated state? But Ray's hands were spreading across Fraser's chest, touching him hungrily, and Ray's eyes were gleaming as he looked down.

"God, this is so—you're beautiful, Frase. Just fucking beautiful."

Fraser swallowed a moan when Ray's thumbs rubbed over his nipples.

Ray's voice went lazy and hot. "Gotta suck you. Now."

Thinking insanely that the point would shortly be moot if Ray continued fondling him like that for even a moment longer, Fraser let his head fall back on the cushion, abdicating all responsibility for this madness. When had he ever been able to stop Ray when he was determined to do something?

Especially since Fraser didn't even want to _try_?

He cried out when he felt Ray reach into his long johns and take his erection into his strong hand.

"Yeah, this is what— _Jesus_ , Fraser—" Ray haphazardly slid off the couch to his knees—Fraser winced at the thump—and then scrambled between Fraser's open legs. He still had a firm grip on Fraser's erection, which throbbed as Ray ducked his head and— _Oh, Ray. Yes, **there** —_Ray's tongue caressed him, shy and fleeting and exciting. And then Ray took him into his mouth, moaning as if he were pleased, as if Fraser's cock were some unlooked-for treat, and Fraser groaned helplessly, utterly overcome.

Ray took Fraser's hand, still clenched on his thigh, and lifted it to his head, and Fraser clung gratefully as with sucking licks Ray tried to drive him out of his mind. The movement paused for a moment, and as if through a tunnel Fraser heard Ray say, "Look at me, Fraser. Look, I'm doing it. I'm finally—I love this—"

Fraser looked down in time to see Ray's hungry mouth taking him in again, and the sight forced his eyes closed, yet the image persisted—that beautiful mouth, lips reddened from sucking, pouting as they enclosed Fraser's hardened flesh—and the afterimage burned him, forced heat from his spine to his groin. He pushed once at Ray's head in warning, and Ray pulled away, his hand still moving.

"Oh, God. Ray, Ray—" Fraser choked back a yell, trapping it in his throat, and tightened his thighs as he climaxed.

"Yeah, Fraser, you're good, you're so good," Ray said, his voice uneven. Fraser looked down with slitted eyes and saw that Ray had opened his own pants and was stroking himself with his other hand. With a moan, Fraser peaked again at the sight. He felt Ray's slick hand slowing on him, and then the rough pad of Ray's tongue touched his ultra-sensitive skin, making him jerk.

Ray murmured something soothing and pulled away, and as Fraser watched he arched his back, his hand moving faster on himself.

"Ray," Fraser choked out. Ray was so beautiful, so primal and desperate, his cock blood red in his fist, and Fraser hadn't touched him, hadn't had a chance to touch him. He needed to.

Fraser quickly slipped to the floor, forcing his thighs over Ray's so he could slide into the tight space between them. He reached, his fingers bumping against Ray's furiously working fist, and managed to cup his palm over the head of Ray's cock just as Ray cried out and spurted thickly against his hand.

"Yes, Ray. You're beautiful, Ray," Fraser said, hardly aware of what he was saying, but wanting Ray to hear his voice, to know he was there with him. He slid his hand down to close Ray's fist tighter around himself, and Ray let out a grateful moan.

Fraser huddled over him, waiting for Ray's breathing to slow so he could kiss him. In the meantime—he took Ray's hand and licked it clean, tasting both of them on Ray's skin, and Ray let out a whimper. Fraser continued until every trace was gone from both their hands, and then wiped them dry with the hanging sleeve of his long johns.

Ray gave a tired-sounding chuckle. "Mr. Tidy."

Fraser forced himself to say primly, "Cleanliness is a Mountie's watchword." His voice sounded altogether too shaky, and he pressed his lips together.

"Now that is bullshit, my friend. No way is there anything about this in the Mountie Handbook."

"No. No." Fraser wondered if Ray was ready to be kissed; if he wanted to be, afterward, and held, and touched—how Fraser _yearned_ to touch him. He remembered Steve Fogerty, always so bold and bright and willing to do whatever he wanted. With Steve, impulse had equaled action, and Fraser took a page right then, reaching out to grab Ray and pull him down to the carpet.

Ray went with a happy-sounding laugh, and wrestled with him until they were tangled together. Their lips met as if planned, and Fraser rolled on top so he could control the kiss, so he could press down and feel Ray squirming beneath him.

"I guess you're okay with this then," Ray said breathlessly, and Fraser worried he was crushing him. But when Fraser nodded, Ray reached up and held him even closer, sliding his arms around Fraser's bare waist and hugging him hard.

Fraser raised his head. "Ray, I have to ask—why did you—if you intended to come here for this, was it...did you feel you had to get drunk first?"

"Is that what you thought?" Ray pushed him over until they were side by side, but he kept one leg slung possessively over Fraser's thigh. "That wasn't why. When I read Steve's note, the first thing I thought was, I'm such a _jerk_. All this time I _knew_ , and I didn't do anything because I was so worried about what people would think. And Steve—he always just did what was right no matter what anyone else thought." Ray rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I got drunk because I hated feeling like a chump."

"Ray...I remind you _I_ didn't do anything, either."

Ray closed his eyes. "Yeah, but only because you didn't know about me. I made sure you didn't. 'Cause I'm an asshole."

"You're _not_ an asshole."

Ray jerked toward him, eyes wide open. "Say that again."

Fraser held back a smile. "I said, and I quote, 'You're not an asshole.'"

Ray's mouth opened on a grin. Fraser lifted a hand and traced the crease in Ray's cheek with one fingertip.

"Come over to my place?" Ray said, sounding as if he thought Fraser needed coaxing. "It's kind of a mess, but I want you to."

"Yes, Ray."

"Right now? The floor is getting way too hard, and my ass is way too soft."

Fraser put a hand on the area in question and gave it a test squeeze, making Ray yelp and then laugh.

"Gettin' fresh on me?"

"Yes, Ray." Fraser smiled back, awed by the warm glow in Ray's eyes.

"C'mon, let's get crackin'." Ray stood and helped haul Fraser to his feet. Looking down at himself, Ray gave a wry laugh at the state of his clothing, but Fraser thought he looked delectable, his soft penis still damp and hanging from the loose vee of his jeans, half-hidden by his messy, untucked shirt.

Fraser shivered and realized he was still half-dressed himself and sticky with various fluids. Ray looked up and solicitously helped Fraser get his sleeves right-side in. Then Ray paused with his hand resting on Fraser's stomach, making him shiver again.

"Come on," Ray said, and his voice had definitely regained that husky note that had thrilled Fraser so. "Let's take this over to my place. See, _I_ have a bed."

"A bed," Fraser echoed.

"Uh-huh. And a turtle."

"A turtle?" Confused, Fraser could only stand, a little unsteadily, as Ray pushed his arms back into his sleeves.

"A turtle. I have to introduce you to him. Except, of course, I have to give him a name first. But now I know just what to call him."

"Oh?" Fraser cooperated as Ray slung an arm around him and led him toward the hallway.

"Yeah." Ray was smiling. "He's definitely a Steve."

....................  
2008.06.20

At first I thought this almost what it looks like...but it turns out people actually do faint in the heat wearing the red serge. Poor Fraser! Taken in Ottawa:

  



End file.
